


Sleep My Child, And Peace Attend Thee

by DixieDale



Series: The Enchanted Forest [2]
Category: Hogan's Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-07 21:23:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17373554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: He had been a teacher in another life, but that had ended before the current war.  Still, he treasured his books with all the knowledge held within.  And he remembered, oh so clearly, all the stories his father and grandfather and great-grandfather had told, stories told by THEIR ancestors.  For his family had always been one to respect and gather wisdom and knowledge (though the two were not always the same thing), and it was even rumored in the family that once, many many many centuries ago, there had been those who knew of OTHER wisdom, had indeed been magic-workers.  An amusing thought, certainly, but not one necessarily believed by the modern generation.  But it is remarkable what you might come to believe in, when you are desperate enough





	Sleep My Child, And Peace Attend Thee

"Grey Goose didn't make it to the rendezvous, Colonel. Chit chat says he got cornered by a Gestapo patrol, was hit, bad, but it doesn't seem like they brought him back in. And they haven't started a round-up of the others of his group."

That was puzzling. The Gestapo was usually quick off the mark to round any and all persons of interest.

"Kinch, get on the phone. Have General Kinchmeyer find out what happened. If we have to get his group out, we don't have a lot of time."

They waited, unhappy faces filling the room. Grey Goose had been someone they'd all worked with, someone they'd respected. The thought went through every man's mind, {"next time, it could be me."}. 

The answer, when Kinch brought it, answered a few questions, but left many more unanswered.

"Yeah, they cornered him near that old farm on the far side of the woods. Report is he was shot, almost certainly a fatal shot, but not immediately. He managed to get into the forest, and somehow, between the snow and their dogs taking off after some wild animal, he managed to get away. They searched, couldn't pick up the tracks, then they really ran into trouble. This is all from one scared out of his wits private, mind you, so I don't know how true it was. HE says the dogs went crazy, turned on them. He got away, but the others didn't. Word is, when the Gestapo Major in charge went out there, the rest of the patrol was dead, pretty much torn to pieces, the dogs were dead, shot by the men they'd attacked, except for maybe a couple that took off. They did their own search, but no sign of Grey Goose."

"If they found those papers . . ."

"Mon colonel, you know Grey Goose. He would have destroyed the papers, if it was the last thing he did. He knew the deaths they would cause if they were found," LeBeau argued.

"Yeah, well, I hope you're right, LeBeau. And with the tripling of the guard, we can't go looking, not anytime soon."

So they settled down, still thinking of Grey Goose, the others of his team, wondering just what had happened that night.

The forest could have told them, of course. The forest knew.

 

He stumbled into the woods, falling, getting up and struggling to go just a few steps farther, then a few steps more. Hide, had to find a place to hide. If not himself, then the betraying papers he carried with him. But where, how? His strength was almost gone, and he knew he was leading a broad trail of blood and churned-up snow.

They weren't behind him now, but they would soon find him, once they were able to force their dogs off the scent of that fox that had crossed his trail. Why the dogs had decided to chase the fox instead of him, he didn't know; they were trained otherwise. Still, perhaps it would buy him some time. But not enough, he feared. He was dying.

"I'm dying," he whispered into the night, not knowing why he felt the strong need to verbalize the obvious.

"Yes," a calm voice whispered in return, a voice old with knowledge. "We all die eventually, even the strongest of us." 

"If they find me, find out who I am, they will know where to look for the others from the papers I carry. I must protect them."

"Them?"

"My family, my friends. Please, help me."

Silence.

"You will still die."

"That doesn't matter."

The forest listened, listened and considered. It knew more than a little about protecting those who depended on it. It understood at least some of what this man was asking. Still, it had been a very, very long time since it had had contact with any humans with even the slightest knowledge, the slightest trace of magic about them, for it took that for a human to reach out to the forest. It tried to remember past interaction, something to provide some guidance as to what was expected, what it might or even should do.

"Very well. Follow the small one."

He looked down, and there was a rabbit sitting at his feet. It moved away, one hop at a time, him following at a slow, staggering pace. It led him to a tree and he watched as it crept into a small opening. He followed inside, wondering if he could even make it in far enough to be out of view. Although it didn't look like it from the outside, there was more than enough room on the inside for him to curl up well away from the opening. He lay there, shaking.

"Cold, so cold," he murmured, and he felt something push its way forward to nestle against him, protecting him from the wind that was now swirling outside. In his delirium, he thought of his grandmother's fur coat, that he had delighted in cuddling inside when he had been a child, and he could feel her warm breath as she sang him a low song, a song with words he couldn't understand but knew there was love in her voice, and he smiled as he felt a sleepiness drift over him. 

Although he was not where he could see it, the wind was picking up the snow, swirling it about, so that his staggering footprints were soon obliviated. Before long, there was no trace of his journey through the forest, no trace of where he had crept into that small opening.

Inside the hollow tree, clever paws and an even more clever set of teeth pulled the so-important papers from the now-unconscious man's coat, and spread them out on the damp ground. Blood has soaked them through, rendering the writing less discernable. Sharp nails now left the paper itself in shreds, and a few swift kicks tossed snow and wet soil over what was left. By morning, there would be only threads of what might once have been paper, and by then, swiftly moving paws would have spread even another layer of mud on top, mud and then wet and moldering leaves.

By morning, the man's spirit would have been long departed as well, and the grey wolf would have moved away, dug his way back out through the snow, shaking the remains from his thick fur. Padding away into the distance, he turned and watched as the sudden burst of wind again scattered and mounded the snow to conceal the opening, along with his tracks. He pointed his long nose to the sky, scenting the new snow on its way, and trotted off toward his own lair. It had been a little thing the forest had asked of him; he didn't know why it had been asked, but that didn't matter. It had been asked, he had done what was asked, and it was over. He paused, lifted his head once again, sniffed the new acrid smell, and knew he'd been wrong. It was NOT over, not quite yet.

 

The Gestapo agents had finally forced their dogs to abandon their mad pursuit of that bedamned fox, and pushed them back into the forest. They had not been gentle with their animals, and received more than a few muted growls when harsh kicks and more met furred ribs.

"He must be around here somewhere! We must find him. He is carrying papers that will identify the others of his group."

Suddenly the fox was back amongst them, leaping from shoulder to shoulder of the shouting men, as the dogs went mad in their desire to catch the fox. It took only seconds before the madness changed to a different madness, fury at the men who had kicked at them, struck them with their rifle butts, slashed at them with those small whips. As the fox leapt away, the men and the dogs fought a new battle, against each other, and fierce barking and snarls and harsh gunshots rang out in the silent forest. Only one man was able to escape, the only one who had refrained from striking them earlier, the only one who had always shown them kindness. That one they let run off into the night.

When it was done, there were only three dogs, all females, left standing, and, as if in one accord, they turned and went off into the forest. A wild lingering howl split the night, calling them onward, and they answered him. Soon they wouldn't remember their servitude to man, except as something never to be tolerated again. Soon they'd join the one who called to them, eventually they would bring new life to the forest, life that they would fight to protect, and the forest would do its best to shelter them.

And in the new silence, the forest wondered whether it had been wise to interfere, wondered if it had somehow opened a door that might have been better left closed. Only time would tell.


End file.
